


A Steady Beat

by Fulcrumisthebomb



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gen, Platonic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:13:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3205490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fulcrumisthebomb/pseuds/Fulcrumisthebomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three different perspectives on Ratchet and Rung's platonic partnership.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Steady Beat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thoughtsdemise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsdemise/gifts).



> Commission fic for jenn-oddballpunk
> 
> I was so delighted to be able to write a platonic friendship that so closely mirrored one I am fortunate enough to have in my life!

Whenever Ratchet had plans, those were the cycles when someone decided blowing open a hole in the mess hall was a good idea. Or holding races on the bridge deck. Or stealing Ultra Magnus' data pads (what morons, everyone knew he had trackers installed in them all). Or starting anything else foolhardy on a gigantic list of nonsense. Although, on this ship, it was difficult to tell those cycles from the  _normal_ ones. 

It was rare that Ratchet actually made plans for himself, and thus, he guarded those times fiercely. With the extra help Ambulon and First Aid provided now, too, it let him walk out when his shift ended with a lot less guilt and a lot more enthusiasm. The nurses, however, were not amused when they noted Ratchet cleaning his tool tray.

"Uhm, are you leaving?" First Aid asked, the plaintive tone making Ratchet grit his dentae. First Aid was wrist deep in Skid's thigh, rerouting delicate wiring around the blast in his leg. 

"My shift's over," Ratchet grunted, folding his tray away and moving to the sink to wash his hands again. They were clean from his sterilization a few moments ago, but the hot cleanser always felt glorious. "Good luck."

"But-," Ambulon joined in the quick protests. "There's no less than thirty injuries to tend to!"

"And an excellent job you've done recording them all," Ratchet replied cheerfully, turning to sweep a smirk over the medbay. Mechs in various states of injuries were lined up along the wall, faint moans of pain mingling with the occasional happy gibbering of one of the patients already on pain blockers. "I expect you'll have them all done by the end of your shifts, if you stop yammering and get back to work."

"Ratchet, I can't  _believe_ you'd-," First Aid began, then started when Ratchet leveled a glare at him.

"My shift," Ratchet growled, "is over. I've gone over the injury list twice; there's nothing dangerous that needs my attention."

"Fine." First Aid huffed, squaring his shoulders. Skids grimaced, but said nothing. "The one time we convince you to leave after your shift ends..."

"Bad luck all around," Ratchet agreed, then flashed a dirty grin. "Except for me. See you next shift."

As he saunters toward the exit- allowing himself to relish the irritated sighs behind him- he catches a faint whisper from Ambulon. He might be old, but his audials had always been as sensitive as his hands, a skill he kept to himself. Above the whimpers and chatter of the medbay, he caught just Rung's name passed between the nurses. His optics narrowed as he rounded the corner out into the hall, wondering how they could have overheard him demanding an appointment slot of the ship's psychiatrist. He had locked his office door before contacting his friend; so how...?

_Not important._  Ratchet snorted, well aware of the nurse's tendency to gossip and uncaring of it all the same. Let them speculate and hypothesize; all that mattered was getting to Rung's office for his scheduled appointment, as the therapist's time was just as valuable and elusive as his own. 

As he impatiently waited in the lift, he found one of his pedes tapping on the metal flooring and stilled, chuckling at himself. Appearing too eager wouldn't do well for his reputation; as with the gossip, he cared little about what others thought of him personally, but what he had with Rung... That was too rare and precious to not guard jealously. Best to appear collected as always, at least until safely ensconced in Rung's office, which was just two more doors down-

A bright orange hand grappled the edge of the door just a second before Rung's face appeared, the customary easy smile curling his mouth as he glanced down the hallway, opposite Ratchet. Grinning, Ratchet lightened his steps as he hurried closer, but still his rushed footfalls gave him away. Rung twisted, his smile widening as he stepped back and ushered the medic into his office silently. Ratchet obeyed the cue quickly, venting softly in relief as the door pinged shut behind them. 

_Finally alone_.

Not truly alone, technically, but it gave Ratchet the same level of comfort to watch Rung hide a laugh as they drifted further into his office and settled on opposing furniture. They stared at each other for a moment as Ratchet systematically shut down all avenues of thought that were stressful or irritating- a considerable feat that took longer than he would have liked.

A hand on his knee startled him back to present, the armour on his shoulders rattling loose when he found Rung's wide smile turned fully on him. "Yeah," he answered the unspoken question, offering a smile in return. "Much better."

"Excellent." Rung squeezed Ratchet's leg before standing, grabbing two half-full cubes before moving to sit next to him. "Tell me about your day, then? How are you feeling? I heard reports of a flurry of activity in the medbay."

Ratchet took one of the cubes and sipped it, grunting in approval at the smooth taste of high-grade. Rung knew exactly how to relax him, down to the suffused warmth his tiny body gave as it rested against Ratchet's side. With a sigh, Ratchet lifted one arm and scooted Rung over, hugging him close to his frame as he began talking.

As much as Ratchet chattered to his nurses and the command trio, most of it was prompted and only involved his work in some way. Rung, however, never asked clinical questions or expected concise reports. The therapist was somehow able to turn off his profession so that his kind words held no double meaning, and in doing so helped Ratchet close off his high-functioning logic processors. When Rung asked how he was  _feeling_ , he simply meant just that- though Ratchet was welcome to volunteer any additional information he felt comfortable sharing. And with a centuries-old friendship between them, Ratchet felt comfortable enough to bare his spark, metaphorically speaking.

As Ratchet built up to a good solid rant about the day's events, their shifting and gesturing eventually had Rung settled firmly in Ratchet's lap, leaning on one thick arm for support as the smaller bot listened attentively. Ratchet stroked underneath Rung's kibble, just below the gratuitous wheel, where he knew from experience Rung carried his frame's tension.

"And then you left?" Rung chuckled, tilting his head so an audial rested against the wide chassis. "With that long line of patients, you simply walked out?"

"Of course," Ratchet grumbled, though an evil smile stole across his face. "Ambulon keeps going on and on at me about leaving when my shift ends, and he and First Aid have been ganging up on me lately about it. Even got Skids in on it."

"Mmm." Rung nodded, rubbing his helm into Ratchet's armour. "I can see that. Skids is..."

"Yeah." Ratchet took Rung's cube and drained the last bit before setting both of the glasses aside. With his now free hand, he tweaked one of Rung's antennae. "Meddlesome."

"No!" Rung laughed, swatting at Ratchet's prodding. "He cares a great deal about us. Every one of us."

Ratchet sighed dramatically. "If half the effort spent on getting me to push toward retirement was spent on actually doing their jobs-,"

"That's not it either," Rung protested, sitting straight and staring up at the CMO. "Don't bluster at me, Ratchet. You know I see right through it."

"...Remind me why I'm friends with you, again?"

"I care about you," Rung replied softly, pressing a hand over the seam of Ratchet's spark chamber. "And there are many others on this ship who have a vested interest in Ratchet the mech, not Ratchet the medic."

"Yeah?" Ratchet's optics narrowed teasingly. "Name five."

"A dangerous game," Rung huffed, shifting to straddle Ratchet's lap as he arched a brow at him. "Are you sure you wish to play?"

Ratchet's gaze lowered, the hinted truth behind Rung's dare almost too painful to consider. "It's much easier to think of them  _my_ way. You know that."

"I do." Rung's tone softened as he leaned in, pressing their forehelms together. 

"I don't have- or make- friends," Ratchet added quietly. "I learned that early in the war. It's too much to get- attached."

"I completely understand, and I empathize- and yet, here we are," Rung said brightly, looping one arm around Ratchet's neck in a loose hug. "If I am to be the only chink in your armour, so be it. I am grateful I can be, for you."

Ratchet sighed again, encircling the therapist's small waist with both hands as they sat twined together. He wanted to thank Rung, to tell him how much this safe space meant to him, but the only words he could construct sounded hollow compared to the depth with which he felt them. In compromise, he hunched and rested his chin on Rung's helm as he gruffly asked about the therapist's day, prepared and eager to listen to Rung's turn to vent and release.

Whatever he and Rung had fallen into- friendship, partners, sparkmates, whatever  _nonsense_ other mechs believed in- all Ratchet knew was that _this_ was what he'd been searching for. 

At the end of his shift, Rung was all he truly needed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It felt like a thousand hands were pulling at Rung, when in truth there couldn't have been more than twenty mechs who had demanded his attention this shift. The ship was a flurry of activity at the promise of shore leave in the near future, and every mech reacted to the excited tension in various ways- most of them in a loud, demanding manner. 

The beginning of his shift had started with a sombre mood. Rewind had scheduled a block of his time to conduct an interview, as part of a larger project sanctioned by Rodimus and Rung was more than happy to participate. But, he'd been unable to ignore how tired and listless the minibot had seemed, and had spent most of their time discussing Rewind's troubles.

After Rewind had made excuses and cut out of their time early, that was went the manic energy began to touch Rung's schedule. Ultra Magnus burst in unannounced during Rung's appointment with Red Alert, which set both the mechs on edge. A small explosion interrupted Whirl's, which highly offended the ex-Wrecker as there was  _'fun happening without me'_. Rodimus even stopped by, full of preening chatter which used up all of Rung's only scheduled break.

One after another, random events forced their way into Rung's shift, leaving him no time to collect himself before the next hit. As irritated as he secretly became, he could only imagine the chaos in the medbay. Was Ratchet yelling at his patients? Was First Aid gently talking him down? Was Ambulon sniggering behind his data pad at them both? 

The only constant Rung could find was using what few free moments he could steal to consider how his friend was dealing with the strange shift. And for the most part, his merry imaginings helped him keep his centre and tend to the various bots who purposefully or inadvertently grabbed his attention.

However, a joor before his shift ended, Rung's processors began threatening to shut down of their own accord. As used to copious amounts of input and information as he was, even Rung had his limits, and today had fulfilled that quota and more. He sat in his office, door left open in silent invitation, his hands wringing in his lap as he waited for the next catastrophe. It had been quite a long time since he'd wanted to cut his shift short and hide away from everyone; he had learned to balance his mental health with the demands of his profession vorns ago, but the stars had aligned and the universe twisted to create a cycle Rung was thoroughly  _done_ with.

"Maybe I should be," he mumbled to himself, then glanced guiltily at the door. His office had quieted, though the corridors were still bustling with shouts and bodies scraping past. 

Would anyone miss him if he left?

He started, surprised by the deep ache the innocent thought had caused, reflexively reaching up to cover his spark chamber to soothe the invisible pain. It was a question he had struggled most of his life with, and still did at times. Before, the bitter certainty that he would be forgotten so easily had plagued him, underpinned his work and pleasure, but now... 

Now he had Ratchet, and he knew how false his fears had been.

Armed with that reminder, Rung stood so quickly his chair wobbled. Perhaps he wouldn't be missed in a professional capacity, but he had given enough of his time and energy this cycle. He needed rest, for his own well-being, and he would take it. With this attitude in mind, his irritation lessened as random mechs tried to stop him in the halls, begging his council and knowledge. Gently he told them he was finished for the cycle if it was a larger overarching problem, and quickly and precisely gave his advise if it was a smaller one. 

They saw him only as Rung the therapist, but since he had decided to set his profession aside the rest of the cycle, it hardly bothered him. Little did they realise he was talking with them as a simple- if intelligent- crew mate.

And finally, after hurdling through the maze of distractions, he ducked into a large doorway and sighed in relief at the instant silence. The Observatory was his favourite space on the ship, usually quiet and mostly empty with an expansive view of the universe. Rung settled into his favourite plushy chair, sighing again as his aching joints relaxed. There were a few other mechs scattered about the large room, but like he, they had sought the serene sanctuary for what it was and kept to themselves. It was perfect.

Or would have been, if a warm arm was wrapped around his shoulders.

Rung pinged Ratchet with his location, hoping his friend could join him. To his surprise, Ratchet responded immediately with his own coordinates, which the therapist recognised as not far down the hallway he'd just walked.  _Great minds and all that_.

A moment later Ratchet's unmistakable tread neared from behind and Rung stretched a hand up over his helm, smiling when a larger one grabbed it and squeezed. "Won't you be missed?" Rung asked, brows furrowed as he watched Ratchet nestle into the chair beside him. "Today has been..." He shook his head, pitching to the side to lay it against Ratchet's shoulder. 

"Insane," Ratchet supplied with a grunt, shifting so his free hand could reach up to slide along the line of Rung's jaw. "It was supposed to be my cycle off, too, since Ambulon wanted tomorrow to himself... Ah well. He owes me."

"So you have a cycle off soon?" Rung asked eagerly. "Perhaps we could plan something together?"

"Sure," the medic replied warmly, tugging Rung closer. A natural silence fell, their hands casually wandering to pet or rub aching joints, their vents syncing as their optics wandered up to the wide clear windows. Countless pinpoints of light winked back at them, stretching into an inky black infinity. Whether here in the quiet or out in the usual bustle of the ship, Ratchet's side was where Rung wished to be whenever he had time for himself. He was incredibly lucky Ratchet professed to feel the same.

"Thank you," Rung murmured, tilting his head up to smile at the CMO. "I barely had time to think today and it became- too much. I had to end my shift early."

"Thought so," Ratchet nodded, his optics half-closed with a lazy grin. "When Inferno said you weren't in your office, I knew where you'd be."

"Oh?" Rung straightened, then yelped when Ratchet yanked him back to sprawl across his chassis. "Is- Is Red Alert alright?"

"He's fine," Ratchet snorted, leaning his helm back and shuttering his optics. "Red Alert was worried he'd appeared rude today and left you several notes at your suite, so Inferno had snuck down to tell you to not worry yourself about them."

Rung sighed in relief, the stress easing from his frame just as quickly as it had gripped him. "Those two... They give me hope."

"For what?" Ratchet murmured.

"For dear Red, mostly," Rung admitted. "As well, it shows I can still be wrong, which is frankly terrifying." He grimaced. "I cannot afford to misdiagnose; I know you understand that as keenly as I do."

Ratchet merely grunted.

"I had thought Red Alert would remain alone for his life- by his own choice, and by society's inability to interact reasonably with him. And then he met Inferno, and-," Rung sat up just long enough to move to rest fully on Ratchet's thigh, throwing a wide smile up at him, "Red's therapy did not begin progressing until he met Inferno, you know. Inferno accepts him for who he is, and loves him for it.  It's incredible, Ratchet."

"Sounds familiar."

Rung chuckled, delicately twining both hands around one of Ratchet's. "True. I had never thought to find this kind of peace with another, myself."

"Nice to not have to be worried about being perfect, right?" Ratchet rumbled, squeezing the smaller fingers laced with his.

"Absolutely," Rung sighed. "No pressure. No agenda. No masks."

"Just us. Who we are."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

"Soooo, I'm here to settle a bet."

Rung perked as Drift slid into the booth opposite him and Ratchet, eyeing the cheeky grin with some trepidation. He thought of Drift as a wild card, and rightly so; especially when Rodimus was celebrating his creation day with free drinks the entire night. An inebriated Drift was less quiet and prone to dueling other patrons- hopefully he wouldn't challenge either one of them, as he and Ratchet were quite happy to watch everyone else as they joined in slowly getting drunk.

"A bet?" Ratchet's optics narrowed as he leaned in, dragging Rung with him. "What've you gotten yourself into now, kid?"

"Oh no, not me," Drift giggled, holding his hands up peaceably. "I just couldn't take the bet, because I already knew the answer. It just wouldn't have been fair, see."

"Uh huh."

"What is this bet?" Rung asked curiously.

Drift slouched against the table, gesturing widely at them. "You two!"

Rung blinked, surprised. "Us? Ratchet and I?"

"'Xactly."

Ratchet straightened with a scowl, rolling his optics upwards. "None of their- or your- damn business, that's what we are."

"I agree," Drift laughed, waving a hand lazily, "but a bet's a bet and mechs want their money. Ratch, see, others think-,"

"I know what they think," Ratchet snapped sourly.

Rung frowned himself, concerned about the dark turn in Ratchet's demeanour. While they had been as reasonable private about sharing their off-shifts together, the Lost Light was a much smaller ship than she appeared. Rumours did not bother Rung, though he was surprised he was beginning to be noticed at the CMO's side. By the look of his thunderous expression, Ratchet did not share his sentiment.

"That's why there's a bet," Drift replied smoothly, returning the glare calmly. "S'why I started it."

"You-?!" 

"Just the bet, not the gossip," Drift interrupted hastily, raising his hands again. "And they've had enough time to plot and scheme and it's time they see what you two are."

"And what are we, Drift?" Rung prompted, his spark whirling excitedly. Certainly Drift was a wild card, but his harsh experiences had lent him more insight to mechs than the majority. No matter what the others thought, Rung would value Drift's opinion higher than most.

"In a word? Love," Drift murmured, resting his chin in both hands. "Not what most mechs think of, though. It's almost... deeper, what you two have. It means everything. You are lovers without being lovers."

"Platonic," Ratchet groused, though his furious expression lessened. 

"That's it," Drift laughed, nearly pitching sideways as his gyros spun. "Couldn't think of it, but yeah. Platonic. No less important, though."

"Very intuitive," Rung praised. "I know most assume we are lovers."

"Don't need interfacing to be someone's safe space," Drift replied, his optics serious as he nodded at them. "Anyway- Thanks. I'm about to make a lotta mechs unhappy!"

Rung chuckled as Drift unsteadily rose to his pedes and wandered off. He nestled closer in Ratchet's embrace, uncaring of the stares tossed their way. "Does this bother you?"

Ratchet sighed, pondering, before he slowly shook his head. "Drift gets it, but not a lot of them will. I just don't want them thinking- I don't know." He reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose. "If anyone says something snarky about you, I'll gut them."

"Oh, Ratchet!" Rung laughed, reaching up to pat the medic's face. "You're such a dear! I do not need such protection. I do not care what they think."

"Truly?" Ratchet peeked down at him.

"Truly. I only knew it seemed to bother  _you_."

"I do not want them mislabeling you," Ratchet growled, tightening his grip around Rung's waist. "They do you a disservice by ignoring you when you aren't your profession as it is."

"I do not mind!" Rung protested, amused at the unexpectedly fierce reaction. "Please, Ratchet. Do not worry yourself over me. You do that enough for others."

"Hmph." Ratchet leaned down, nuzzled Rung's cheek with his own. "You deserve it more than any of those fraggers."

Rung's frame suffused with new warmth as he completely relaxed back against the bulkier frame. "I do not, but I will always be grateful for it, and you."


End file.
